Shattered
by AngelOfDarkness1959
Summary: Linked to Genesis of a Villain. A glimpse into Nasira's life before and after Jafar left. Two-shot.
1. Tariq

My first M-rated fic… wow. I feel strangely accomplished.

This is linked to Jafar's chapter of _Genesis of a Villain_, so if you haven't read it, you might be confused about certain things. As the summary says, this will go more into Nasira's back story, specifically what happened after Jafar left. Fair warning: while I'm going to try and not make this too graphic, this is going to go into some dark areas, although the fact that this in the M section should be a pretty big clue to that.

**Disclaimer:** You guys should be _happy_ I don't own Disney.

* * *

Crawling on all fours like one of the many cats she had seen on the streets of Agrabah, three-year-old Nasira Samara caught sight of her mother brushing her hair and grinned. No one had ever snuck up on Mama before, and she was going to be the first. Jafar would be _so_ jealous when he found out. The thought made Nasira's grin widen. Slowly, deliberately, she crept towards her before diving for her legs with a loud cry.

"Good evening, Nasira."

"No fair, Mama!" the toddler whined, untangling her tiny limbs from her mother's much longer legs. "How come you weren't scared?"

Smiling, Lamya Samara plucked her daughter from the floor and settled her into her lap.

"I saw you coming."

"How?" Nasira's dark eyes brightened for a moment, her annoyance forgotten. "Was it a spell?"

"No, just the mirror," Lamya replied, stifling a giggle when Nasira folded her arms and pouted. "Come now, my dear, don't be cross." Picking up the brush once more, she began running it through the toddler's long black hair. "Is Jafar still resting?"

"Mm-hmm. His head hurts."

A trace of worry crossed Lamya's face. Nasira didn't notice – her attention was drawn to her mother's open jewelry box. By the light of the nearly-set sun, she could see something glittering within. Curious, she reached inside and fished out a multi-pointed gold necklace. The toddler's dark eyes widened. She had never seen this necklace before – her mother only ever wore an onyx-and-silver one.

"You like it?" When Nasira nodded, Lamya set the brush down and gently took the necklace from her. "Well, let's see how it fits."

Smoothing her daughter's hair back, Lamya carefully placed it around her neck. It was much too big for her little body, almost comically so, but Nasira was delighted anyway. She looked at Lamya's reflection in the mirror's polished glass.

"Pretty?"

"Always." Lamya smiled and kissed the top of her head. "It's time for bed. I have to check on your brother, but I'll come tell you a story afterwards, okay?"

"Okay, Mama."

Once the necklace had been returned to the jewelry box, Nasira scrambled off her mother's lap and set off to her own bedroom while Lamya went in the opposite direction, probably to get something for Jafar's headache.

_What story is Mama going to tell tonight? Maybe the one about the Isle of Tragoon. Or maybe Fashoom and Phasir! Oh! Or even –_

Nasira stopped dead in her tracks. Leaning against the wall, watching her through pale eyes, was her father.

"…Hi."

She waved to him awkwardly. He nodded in acknowledgement, and Nasira shuffled her feet, unsure of what to do. Tariq didn't usually talk to her and Jafar much – in fact, he seemed to try his hardest to avoid them – but she didn't want to ignore him, and the silence felt awful. It had to be broken by something, anything.

"Mama took me to the bizarre today –"

"_Bazaar_, Nasira," Tariq corrected her sharply, "its bazaar. If you can't say it properly, why bother talking at all?"

The toddler wilted. No one had ever spoken so harshly to her – not Jafar when he was mad, and certainly not an adult. She sniffed and her dark eyes began to water.

Nasira was much too young to understand or even see the predatory gleam that entered her father's eyes then.

"Finish your story," he coaxed her. "Remember what I said."

Confused and yet relieved, Nasira did.

"Mama took me to the _bazaar_ today."

Not wanting to get snapped at again, she pronounced the word slowly and carefully, looking to her father for support when she was done. He said nothing, merely gave her an approving nod, but the tiny gesture spoke volumes. Nasira grinned.

_Wait until Jafar hears._

* * *

Much to Nasira's surprise, this was not the end of her interactions with Tariq. Rather, following their little exchange, he sought her out and seemed to want to spend more time with her. Not very much, mind, but certainly more than he had before, from going to the bazaar to simply talking. Once he even told her a bedtime story. _Just_ her, always just her. Jafar and Lamya were never included in any of this, despite her begging, and it wasn't until Nasira was six that she worked up the courage to ask why. The answer was a strange one.

"You and I aren't like them, Nasira," Tariq said immediately, almost as though he'd been waiting for this question. "We're different. Better. We have to stick together. You understand, don't you?"

_Different from Mother and Jafar?_

It was a disconcerting thought, but Nasira didn't say as much, unwilling to anger Tariq.

"Yes, Father."

"Good girl."

Tariq picked her up and carried her the rest of the way home, a rare treat. Nasira spent most of the day in her bedroom, ignoring Jafar's calls to play until he finally gave up and stalked away in a huff. Not long after, Lamya came knocking.

"Nasira?" She entered the room and sat next to her daughter on the bed. "Is everything all right?"

"I don't know," Nasira admitted. "I feel funny."

"Do you think you're sick?"

Without waiting for an answer, Lamya put a hand to Nasira's forehead, feeling for a fever. Nasira shook her head and knocked her mother's hand away impatiently, instantly regretting it when she saw Lamya's surprised, almost hurt expression.

"Not _that_ kind of funny. Like… like…"

She couldn't describe it, the deep-seated feeling of dread stirring in her stomach, even to herself.

"Mother, am I different from you and Jafar?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know." Nasira shrugged. "That's what Father said."

The simple words had a profound effect on Lamya. Her dark eyes began to flash, dainty hands balling into fists. Nasira recoiled, and she softened once more.

"Come here."

Lamya held her arms out, and Nasira quietly went into them, surprised to find that her mother was shaking.

"It's not true, what he meant. Not at all."

"What'd he mean?"

Nasira wriggled out of Lamya's crushing grip to look her full in the face. The sorceress was biting her lip, trying to select her words with the upmost care.

"Nasira," she began slowly, "you and Jafar like watching me perform magic, yes? Well, your father… he hates what he can't understand. What he can't control. And he can do neither when it comes to magic. Do you understand?"

"I think so…"

Nasira had heard enough of her parents' late-night arguments to know that they didn't like each other, but this was the first time an explanation had ever been offered. How could Tariq hate magic? It was wonderful. Nasira herself was looking forward to the day when she could practice it herself.

_Oh no._

The child's eyes suddenly widened in horror. Did this mean she would have to choose between them? She couldn't possibly! She loved her mother and brother, loved magic, but at the same time she loved her father and the bond they'd begun to form.

As though she could read her mind, Lamya said quietly, "Nasira, magic is in your blood, and whether or not you chose to use it is your decision alone. I ask only that you remember it. Remember your heritage. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Mother." Nasira's arms wound around Lamya's waist. "I promise."

* * *

Having spent a substantial amount of time with both of them, Nasira couldn't help drawing contrasts between her mother and father. Lamya was warm. She was gentle. She loved her and Jafar equally and without prejudice.

Although there was a dark charisma about him, Tariq was aloof and harsh, and though he was warmer to Nasira, she was under no illusion that the feeling extended to Jafar or Lamya. Even where Nasira was concerned, his affection came with strings attached and was much easier lost than gained.

Despite this – or perhaps because of it – Nasira continued to be drawn to him. Even with his prejudice and other grievous flaws, he was still her father and she wanted so badly to prove that she was worthy of his love. If it meant hiding her magic from him, then so be it.

And besides that – and she would never admit this, not even to herself – Nasira felt a strange sense of satisfaction in the way Tariq favored her over Jafar, the way he listened to her and spoke to her kindly and looked at her affectionately. Nasira loved her brother, but there were so many things she had to share with him – even her magic wasn't entirely hers – and it was nice to finally have something that was all her own.

Then Lamya died, and Nasira's little world turned in on itself. Jafar had to leave, and she was nearly driven mad from grief. And it was because of Tariq. He wasn't at all upset about the loss of half of their family – he was happier than Nasira had ever seen before, and she hated him for it, but he was the only family she had left and she couldn't lose him too. She just couldn't.

Tariq was sympathetic at first, sitting up with her when she cried late at night and even offering to let her sleep in his room when the crushing loneliness became too much, but around the time she turned thirteen… something changed. He would insist on having her near him at all times while they were at home while at the same time slowly restricting her visits in the outside world. On the few occasions she was allowed to accompany him to the bazaar, he would keep a tight hold on her wrist, squeezing so tightly that it hurt, and make sure to intercept the conversation when it seemed anyone was about to try and speak to her. When she was fifteen, he banned these outings altogether.

"It's for the best," he'd reassured her. "The sickness has only just passed, and for all we know it could still be floating about. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Nasira didn't believe this reason, but she dared not protest. Jafar had protested, and Allah only knew what had become of him.

"Yes, Father."

"Good girl." Tariq smoothed her hair from her face and kissed her jaw, ignoring the way she stiffened in surprise. "I'll find a way to make it up to you."

He looked at her differently after that. Nasira couldn't explain it or describe it, but she just _knew_ something in his eyes had changed. Sometimes it was as if when he looked at her, he didn't really _see_ her anymore. It wasn't long after that he started giving her gifts. Anything – everything. Nasira needed only hint that she wanted something and it was hers almost instantly. On such rare occasions, she only ever asked for books, but Tariq seemed particularly fond of cloaking her in soft silk dresses of every color, in jewelry that glittered and shined in even the faintest of light.

"What's the occasion?" she would inquire whenever he came home with one of these.

"You are," he would answer, handing her the newest gift and putting his hands on her shoulders to steer her towards her bedroom. "Now try it on and we'll see how it fits."

Nasira obliged him during the day, but in the nighttime privacy of her bedroom, she shed the fancy presents in favor of her nightgown and a familiar multi-pointed gold necklace. Upon her death, Lamya had left many of her personal effects to her only daughter, including the contents of her jewelry box. While she refused to put on the onyx-and-silver necklace her mother had so loved – she couldn't imagine anyone else wearing it, it just felt wrong – the gold was different. It was every bit Lamya's as the onyx, but she had never worn it, so it was okay to. Nasira wore it when she practiced her magic and felt as though she were with Lamya and Jafar once more. It was the closest to normal she ever came to feeling, and in later years she would cling to those memories.

* * *

The day started out like any other in her (so far short) eighteenth year. Nasira had gotten up early to practice a spell – this one the ability to summon temporary fire – and gotten dressed afterwards. She had just sat down on the edge of her bed to brush her hair when Tariq entered – despite his name, he never knocked, something that had led to more than one awkward situation between them.

"Oh." He blinked in surprise. "You're awake."

His eyes fell to her neck, and Nasira realized with horror that she was still wearing Lamya's gold necklace.

"Mother left it to me." She covered it with one slender hand, as though she could shield it from Tariq. "It – it helps me feel close to her and –"

Tariq cut her off with a wave of his hand, and Nasira was stunned to see that a smile was inching its way across his face.

"It suits you," he remarked. In a single, fluid movement, he had joined her on the bed. "You look like her, Nasira. Did you know that? I'm sure you must have."

It was Nasira's turn to blink. She _had_ noticed certain physical similarities between herself and Lamya – long hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones – but she would have never expected Tariq of all people to comment on it.

"But you're not her, are you?" Tariq's hands fell to her shoulders, brushing hair away from them. "Not at all. You're… unpolluted."

Nasira bit down on the tip of her tongue to keep from spouting an angry retort. The brush fell from her hand with a clatter.

"It's remarkable how two people can look so similar and be so different. Take you and your brother for instance. He stayed with Lamya while you came to me. And here we are now."

Nasira bent down to pick up her fallen hairbrush, freezing as the lightest of pressures was applied to her now-exposed shoulder. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up.

"What are you doing?" she managed to get out a hoarse whisper, although some primal part of her knew exactly what was happening.

"Shh."

Tariq's mouth moved to her neck. She tried to pull away and felt his hands tighten around her wrists. With an almighty tug, Tariq hoisted her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.

"Let go!"

Nasira tried to kick him and received a punch to the jaw. Pain shot through her and she ceased her struggles, stunned. Her head was spinning, and her eyes began to water.

"There now." One cold hand closed around her throat, causing her to flinch. "I'm sorry it had to come to that, but you must behave." Tariq spoke as though she were little more than an impudent child being punished for having a temper tantrum. "Don't look at me that way, Nasira. You owe me for everything you have."

Reality washed over Nasira then. It had all been a lie, an elaborately crafted lie. As a child, she had been someone who could be manipulated and molded to his liking, and now she was a woman that could be dominated in other ways. A woman who had Lamya's appearance and not (he thought) her magic and with his own blood to boot. He hadn't cared about her, not in the way she thought. All this time, he'd been _grooming_ her.

Blinking back tears, Nasira allowed her body to go slack and forced herself not to resist when Tariq again went to her neck. Slowly, deliberately, one hand inched away, creeping down to the floor. Tariq was too occupied to notice.

_Almost there…_

His hands slid down to her chest…

…_almost…_

…her hips…

…_please…_

At last her fingers brushed against what they had been looking for before curling around it resolutely. Her mind chanted the fire spell while she pointed her staff directly at Tariq's face, and his pained cry quickly filled the room. Nasira pushed him off and got as far as the opposite wall before the flames faded. Tariq's eyes darted from the staff to her face, and for a moment he had the audacity to look betrayed. Rage quickly took over. He took a step closer to her, and Nasira found that her own legs refused to move. She pointed her staff as though it were a scimitar as her frightened mind scrambled to remember the spell she had cast just moments ago. At last the words seemed to come, but when she tried to put them into effect, nothing happened. Tariq seized this moment and, moving with a speed Nasira never before knew he possessed, he pinned her to the wall and forced her to release the staff.

"What's the matter?" He smiled mockingly. "Your toy not working anymore? That's what happens when you rely on witchcraft."

Nasira's head was slammed into the wall until she could taste blood and was consumed by blackness.

* * *

The moon was high in the sky when Nasira gained consciousness. She immediately looked around for Tariq but found herself alone on the floor, next to a pile of splinters. Her heart skipped a beat.

_A pile of splinters…?_

She sat up, ignoring the pounding in her head, and quickly moved to inspect it. Her fears were soon confirmed – these were the remnants of her staff. There was no time to be sentimental – Tariq could return at any moment, and she had to get away. The door was locked, leaving the window her only option. With nothing but the clothes on her back (and her mother's onyx necklace tucked into her pocket), Nasira carefully climbed out of the window and, after a brief hesitation, jumped to the ground.

Her leg hit at an odd angle, sending fresh waves of pain through her body, but when Nasira opened her mouth to cry out, nothing happened. No sound. Not so much as a whimper, and it didn't take long for her to figure out why. When she had tried to cast the fire spell, she had been unable to remember the words. In her confusion and fear, she must have gotten it mixed up with something that had taken her voice.

A noise came from within the house, startling Nasira into a run. She had no destination in mind, just the ever-present need to get away from Tariq, and stopped only when it became clear that her body would go no further. By now her feet had taken her to an abandoned alley, and she collapsed there, exhausted. Sleep came quickly, bringing with it nightmares.


	2. Baqir

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

* * *

_RRRR!_

Placing one hand over her stomach as though to placate it, Nasira slumped against the alley wall, head spinning. Four days had passed since she fled her childhood home. Coincidentally, this was also how long she had gone without having something to eat, and with not a coin in her possession, that wasn't about to change. One hand dipped into her pocket, fingering the necklace that lay within. Perhaps it would be worth –

_No! It's all I have left of them. I can't let it go._

Her stomach let out another growl, followed by a sharp pain. Nasira lowered herself to the ground just as a soft, fruity scent reached her nose. She looked up and was met with a sight that, at the moment, was both beautiful and cruel.

A fruit stand being closed up for the night by the vendor, its ripe contents displayed to the world. The gentle moonlight reflected off a bushel of shiny red apples, and Nasira felt her mouth water. There was so much there. Surely – her pulse quickened – surely no one would notice if she took just one little apple?

Nasira walked to the stand as though on eggshells, dark eyes flickering between the fruit and the vendor. His back remained turned to her until her trembling fingers brushed against the skin of what was to be her apple. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, they stared at each other until Nasira grabbed her prize and bolted amid delayed cries of "Stop! Thief!"

Nasira didn't stop running until the night was quiet once more. By now, the tiniest trace of guilt had worked its way inside her mind, and she quickly attacked it. Why should she feel guilty about wanting to stay alive? Besides, the vendor had so much, her apple wouldn't be missed. Still, she glanced around nervously and, finding no one, prepared to sink her teeth into the meager meal.

She had only just raised it to her lips when the cold tip of a scimitar was pressed against her neck.

"Turn and face me. If you try to run, I'll kill you."

Swallowing her heart, Nasira complied and found her subjugator to be a palace guard. He smirked at her startled expression.

"You're right to fear me." Drawing himself to his full height, he informed her, "I am Baqir, captain of the Sultan's guards, whereas you appear to be nothing more than a thieving street rat. Do you know the punishment for thievery, wretch?"

Though she tried to look defiant, particularly at the "wretch" comment, inwardly Nasira was trembling. She _did_ know what became of thieves – they were taken to the palace dungeon to have their hands cut off. Her own curled into fists at the thought. To lose her limbs would almost certainly mean death, and she couldn't let that happen.

As though he sensed her weakness, Baqir's eyes darted up and down her slender form, and his expression changed.

"However, I think an exception can be made here. Provided, of course, that you would be willing to do certain favors for me when I wished."

The lascivious look on Baqir's face left little doubt in Nasira's mind as to what sort of favors she would be expected to perform – it reminded her of Tariq, and she hated it. Nasira crossed her arms over her chest as if she could protect herself from his gaze and shook her head. She hadn't escaped Tariq just to lower herself to this.

"You may wish to reconsider my offer. If you refuse, I'll have to take you to the dungeon." The scimitar went a little closer, making Nasira squirm. "And you won't be able to get away from me there."

It dawned on Nasira quickly. Whatever she chose, she would still have to do what he wanted.

_I'm damned no matter what happens._

But there was only one way to keep her hands.

"Well?"

Nasira made herself look Baqir in the eye and nod. A triumphant grin crossed the guard's face, and he sheathed his scimitar. Before Nasira could even think of running away, one hand shoved her to the ground while the other went to remove her dress.

It was over quickly – that was the best thing Nasira could say about it. Try as she might to force her mind to go blank, it remained perfectly aware of what was happening until Baqir rose and left her lying in the sand.

When she was certain he was gone and the pain between her legs began to dissipate, Nasira tentatively sat up and grabbed her dress, desiring only to be fully clothed once more. She started to pull the skirt of her dress down and found that her thighs and the sand beneath them were stained with blood. Her stomach gave out with remarkable speed.

The apple tasted bitter.

* * *

"Your reward."

Nasira took the offered bread and tore off a chunk to eat. It was cold and a little stale but edible all the same. Besides, considering she didn't know when Baqir would next bring something, she was in no position to turn this down.

"Now that I've taken care of you –"

Nasira was pressed against the wall, causing her body to tense. It knew all too well what came next – it still bore the bruises of more recent encounters.

"– it's time for you to do the same."

Before another injury could be added to Nasira's ever-growing collection, the clatter of horse hooves filled the night air. Frowning, Baqir loosened his grip and turned his head. Nasira squirmed away and glanced around the wall. She was rewarded with the sight of a black stallion galloping across the sand and stopping at a familiar apothecary. When the rider dismounted, his face was revealed by the moonlight, and Nasira would have gasped had she still possessed her voice.

She knew that face. How could she not, when its features were so like hers?

_Jafar!_

Nasira's euphoria was cut short by a sharp yank on her hair, pulling her back behind the wall. She struggled and received a bruised jaw for her efforts. Keeping a firm hold on her neck as well now, Baqir looked around the wall warily. When his eyes were back on her, they were able to find the recognition in hers.

"You know Jafar?" Before Nasira could answer, Baqir leaned closer as though studying her carefully. "You almost _look_ like him. Perhaps there's some kind of relationship… no, impossible. He's never mentioned having any family."

Nasira's face fell.

On the other side of the wall, the sounds continued. The pressure around Nasira's neck tightened.

"Now." Baqir's voice was oilier than ever. "As Jafar has indicated his lack of interest in you, it's only decent that you respect his wishes and stay away. Otherwise, there might be… certain incidents surrounding him. Accidents do happen, after all. Am I clear?"

When Nasira had nodded as best she could, Baqir released her and vanished into the night.

_Do I dare?_

With a glance at the wall, Nasira decided she did dare. A final peek couldn't hurt, could it?

Dark eyes peered out from behind the crumbling structure and found themselves staring into an identical pair. Startled, Nasira immediately turned away, intending to leave before she broke her bargain and Jafar was hurt for her carelessness. Her feet refused to move, and she found herself rooted to the spot, some part of her willing her brother to come to her, to prove that was Baqir had said was wrong.

Her answer came in the form of fading hoof beats.

* * *

It started simply enough – a headache here, a cough there. With the plague that killed Lamya long stifled, there seemed to be no cause for alarm. Even the fever was simple at first, subtle enough that Nasira wondered if she wasn't just imagining it, even when she began to weaken and tire more easily.

Then the nightmares came. Hellish delusions, reality-based events twisted into the worst possible scenario that left their victim gasping for breath and clutching her blanket in fear. While Baqir tended to take center stage, on nights when the fever felt particularly cruel, it would send Tariq and keep her from reaching her staff in time.

Nasira found herself in a desperate situation. She needed medicine – assuming the dreams didn't drive her to insanity before she cared about her fate, the fever would eventually kill her – and she had no money with which to buy it. Baqir hadn't come to see her in almost a week, so he couldn't be relied on. That left just one option, and though Nasira hated to consider it, she knew it had to be done.

As night fell and the pain of the fever lessened slightly, she gathered her mother's necklaces and took them to a jewelry vender. When the vender finished examining them, he cast Nasira a look so cold that she took a step back.

"Do you think me a fool, woman?" he growled. "I know damaged merchandise when I see it!"

Nasira had just enough time to wonder _Damaged?_ before scrambling to catch the necklaces as they were flung back at her. She looked down at them herself and found that, startlingly, he was right. Long, thin scratches shined silver in the dull light.

"You see? Worthless."

He seemed to be talking about more than the jewelry this time. Nasira glared at the vender and stalked away.

_You're not worthless to me._

She found a spot to rest near a tavern and stood quietly, arms wound around her chest. Her head was beginning to burn again.

_What do I do now?_

Laughter interrupted her thoughts, loud, lascivious laughter that made Nasira's skin crawl. When she looked up, her eyes were met with a bizarre trio, two drunken men and a skimpily dressed woman batting her eyes and swaying her hips – a harlot, no doubt. While the first man was intent on her, the second kept his gaze firmly on Nasira.

_He thinks I'm a harlot too._

Uncomfortable and more than a little offended, she shook her head, hoping to deter him, but he just kept _staring_ and oh Allah, he was coming towards her.

"You seemed lonely, so I thought I should come say hello."

She edged her body away, but that seemed to only pique him further.

"There's no need to be shy." The smile he gave her might have been charming if she didn't already know what was on his mind. "I don't bite."

_Go away. Leave me alone. I'm not one of them._

In what seemed to be a last-ditch effort to claim her affection, the man reached into his pocket and came out with a handful of coins. A quick mental calculation told Nasira that there was enough for her to get the medicine she needed. She wanted so badly to refuse, to walk away with her head held high and salvage what little dignity she had left, but she _couldn't_. That money meant the difference between life and death, and she wasn't ready to die. Not like this.

He'd lied when he said he didn't bite.

* * *

_Filth._

Nasira hugged herself a little tighter and quickened her pace. The coins jangled in her pocket, and the sound was at once wonderful and horrible.

_Filth. Filthy whore. That's what you are now. Just another –_

_STOP IT!_ She clutched her head so tightly she nearly drew blood. _I had no choice._

Her mind was quiet the rest of the way to the apothecary, where she was able to get the medicine and have a single coin left over. She was pondering exactly what to spend said coin on when she bumped (quite literally) into a familiar face.

Baqir's first instinct seemed to be to snap at her, but his eyes caught sight of the coin in her hand and glimmered with interest.

"And just where did you get _that_?" In one swift movement, the coin's ownership changed. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

Nasira shook her head and reached out in a desperate attempt to grab it. Baqir ignored this.

"Well, since you've found a way to get money on your own, you won't have any qualms about sharing some of it." His eyes narrowed. "_Right_?"

_But – that – I don't want – please no –_

"Good."

Baqir pocketed the coin and continued on his way.

* * *

"Now, let's see what else you have for me."

When Nasira didn't move fast enough for his liking, Baqir impatiently seized her cloth bag and poured its contents – bright, shining coins – into his hand. Nasira stepped back and nervously toyed with her hair, awaiting the verdict. Though a part of her was prepared for the slap, it didn't dull the pain.

"This isn't nearly enough! What's wrong with you?"

Before Nasira could consider responding, she found herself slammed against the wall with a massive hand squeezing her throat.

"I want this doubled the next time we meet." The pressure around her throat tightened. "Am I being clear?"

Nasira nodded frantically and was rewarded with a less restricted air supply. Baqir smirked and leaned in to press his mouth against hers, quickly replacing his lips with teeth. Mindful of what would happen if she pulled away, Nasira forced herself to be still, even as she felt her blood drip down her chin, until Baqir had left with her money. One hand went to her mouth to wipe away the blood, and she found herself running her fingers over her thinning face. She could feel every bone.

Baqir's threat rang through her mind, and bile rose in her throat. Oh, how she had fallen. Any control she had once been able to exercise over her life was long gone, now resting in the hands of men who sought to use her body for their pleasure and her muteness to their advantage. Her brother had abandoned her for the riches of the palace. She had nothing. She _was_ nothing.

As it all sank in, a tear rolled down her cheek. Nasira reached up to wipe it away, but it was soon joined by another, then another, and before she knew it, she was on the ground, sobbing into the sand.

Because of her spell-induced silence, she was still able to detect the sound of someone walking through the sand.

_He's coming back!_

Though she knew it would merely delay the inevitable, Nasira shrank away from the approaching person.

"No, it's all right! It's all right."

Nasira froze. Though the voice definitely didn't belong to Baqir – a fact that made her tense muscles relax slightly – it was familiar, even if she couldn't quite place it.

"I promise, I won't hurt you."

Hesitantly, Nasira chanced a look at the newcomer, her dark eyes starting at his golden shoes and traveling upward. Black and red robes, not overly rich, but still conveying the image of high status. The beginnings of a twisted beard.

"I just want to help, but you have to come out of there first."

A sharp, angular face. Black hair mostly hidden by a dark colored turban.

And… and those eyes…

_It can't be him. It just can't be._

"Nasira?"

He knew her name!

_My mind is playing another trick on me. This is all some sort of hallucination._

In spite of her disbelief, she began to edge closer and closer until at last her shaking hand pressed against the warm, decidedly real flesh of his cheek.

_It _is_ you! You're here!_

As tears welled up in her eyes once more, Nasira collapsed into Jafar's embrace and, for the first time in years, felt as if she was truly safe. He hadn't forsaken her. With that simple fact confirmed, her world suddenly became a little brighter.

"What's happened to you?"

The spark was instantly extinguished. Nasira bit down on her lower lip, weighing her options. He couldn't know what she'd done, not ever. Her "occupation" did little to improve her worth in the eyes of the common folk, and the thought of regaining her brother only to lose him once more because of it was unbearable.

Perhaps concerned by her continuing silence, Jafar pulled away from her. Nasira had to fight to keep from clinging to him.

"Won't you speak to me?"

Somehow, those five little words made her feel more helpless than ever before. She could only shake her head and tap her throat in response. Fortunately, Jafar understood her perfectly, and as he wiped the blood from her face, Nasira found herself writing the word "spell" in the sand. Or trying to, at least – sand wasn't exactly the best medium for this. If he could read it then perhaps – Nasira allowed herself a moment of hope – perhaps Jafar would be able to reverse its effects?

The fluttering of wings of wings and a loud voice filled the night air. It was a parrot, and it spoke to her brother as freely as any human, something that piqued Nasira's jealousy as well as shock. Upon seeing her, the bird fell silent and simply blinked at her. Nasira wasn't sure how long they stared at each other, only that at some point the parrot flew to her shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. The simple gesture brought a smile to Nasira's lips, and she ran her bony finger atop his head in return.

Her weight shifted with the action, and the necklace did the same. It seemed heavier now than ever before. Nasira bit her lip. Although a cloud of guilt had been hanging over her since she had tried to sell it, she had come to terms with the fact that she would eventually have to part with Lamya's necklace, if for no other reason than to protect it. Even with the scratches marring its value, she couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't still be a tempting target for thieves.

Nasira pulled the necklace from her pocket and slipped it into Jafar's hand.

"Nasira, I can't –"

_Take it. Please._

She pressed harder, and Jafar gave in, prompting a barely perceptible nod of satisfaction – it would be safe with him. With his free hand, Jafar moved to help her up.

"Come with me, Nasira. We'll go back to the palace and –"

The mention of the palace triggered something in her mind, and suddenly the warning she had been so happily ignoring until now was ringing in her ears. She thought of the bruises that marked her skin and could not allow the same thing to happen to her brother, so although doing so felt like a knife to the heart, she pulled her hand from his.

"He won't hurt you, I promise," Jafar said quickly, misunderstanding her fears only slightly. "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

The metaphorical knife twisted. Nasira turned and fled because if she didn't, she would give in and endanger them both.

_I'm sorry, Jafar._ She reached the tiny hovel that was now home and ducked inside. _I miss you too. But this is for the best._

Even to herself, the words sounded hollow.

Nasira spent the next two hours trying to pretend she couldn't hear her name being called.

* * *

A mere two months later, the streets of Agrabah were positively abuzz with gossip. Nasira wasn't normally one for rumors, but the name Baqir caught her attention, and the more she listened, the happier she became.

The grand vizier, Fahim, was dead and Baqir had caused it. He had disappeared before he could be arrested (and presumably executed), but he would have to be a fool to stay in Agrabah after what he had done.

It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Finally, _finally_, she was free of him and the lifestyle he had brought on her. And to top it off, Jafar was to become grand vizier in Fahim's place – Nasira swelled with pride upon hearing that. She could think of no one better suited for the job. It seemed things were looking up for both of them.

Nasira's euphoria lasted for the remainder of the day and came crashing down when she returned "home" that night. Standing in the middle of the floor, as though he didn't realize he wasn't supposed to be there, was Baqir.

She was too surprised to be afraid at first, eyes wide and mouth open slightly. Why was he still in Agrabah? And for that matter, how had he found out where she lived?

"You look confused. Been listening to the gossip in the bazaar, have you?"

He moved closer to her. Nasira's rigid muscles refused to move, prompting a smirk from Baqir.

"Did you think I was leaving? Because if so, you'll be happy to learn that's not the case. I have… friends who want me to stay, you see –"

A cold hand began caressing her hair in a mocking gesture of affection.

"– which means it will be business as usual for us."

The invisible coating of ice surrounding Nasira suddenly melted, and before her mind had a chance to properly consider the consequences, she slapped his hand away and pointed towards the door. Baqir's amusement vanished in an instant.

"You'll regret that."

Nasira glared at him and stood her ground. While she wasn't entirely certain _where_ this burst of courage had come from, there was no doubting why it had come about. Baqir's influence in the palace, and with it his hold over Jafar, was gone. With the threat of harm to her brother neutralized, she no longer had a reason to fear the ex-captain.

Nasira learned that night that courage was not the same as freedom.

Baqir fell on her like a rabid animal. She did all in her power to resist, even when her nails were torn from the fingers and started to bleed, when the sound of ripping fabric reached her ears, when the pain between her legs became so great that she though – _hoped_ – she would pass out.

When there was nothing left to break, Baqir stood and prepared to leave, offering three simple, chilling words in parting.

"Nothing has changed."

Despite knowing he was gone, Nasira kept her body as still as possible, not even pulling the torn pieces of her dress together to cover herself. This was more out of necessity than wanting. The tiniest of movements made her muscles scream, and the tears forming in her blackened eyes stung before they fell. Just taking a breath reminded her how utterly shattered she was in every sense of the word.

She complied and they hurt her. She fought back and they hurt her. There was no escape, only misery.

That night was the first time Nasira wished for death. It wouldn't be the last.


End file.
